Half Life
by AnIntrigueOfMundaneProportion
Summary: Some things were not meant to last.
1. En Route

"Easily one of the best perks of this gig is all the traveling. Isn't it great to just expand your horizons?"

Brodi looked from the window to the very disinterested Psymon, who grunted in response to the question. Psymon's tattoo - a chain that circled up his arm, around his neck, across his chest, and down the other arm - held a less apathetic view: _You know what would be great, _Broderick? _Taping your mouth shut! How do you like that? _In times like these, Psymon was glad that no one could hear his "friend."

Unfazed, Brodi turned back to the view high above the clouds.

While Brodi's opinion may not be shared by other boarders, the fact that they traveled quite a bit still remained. Presently, the crew was flying from Japan's Tokyo Megaplex to the Alaskan course. Psymon, much to the disappointment of Marisol and Elise, got the seat next to the resident Buddhist on the ten hour flight. He had never had a problem with Brodi, but apparently he felt the need to fill whatever silence there was. Psymon never had that sort of urge, considering how his tattoo always had something to say.

After a horrible in-flight movie, a couple push ups in the aisle, and a game of I-Spy with his tattoo, Psymon had had enough of this flight and it wasn't even half over. His eyes wandered aimlessly. Eventually falling to the seat next to him - on Brodi, who had abandoned cloud-watching for reading.

Sensing he was being watched, Brodi turned and smiled, raising his book to show Psymon. "I'm reading _Confessions of a Mask_ by Yukio Michima. It's his first book and I love it, man. He's my favorite author. Dude, did you know..." He continued on and on without any provocation.

Psymon quickly tuned him out though continued to stare. For the first time, he actually _saw_ Brodi: His wonderful smile constantly plastered on his face. His tanned skin. His beautiful eyes. His broad shoulders. His marvelously sculpted torso, highlighted by his skin tight shirt.

The tattoo, not liking where these thoughts were headed, interrupted Psymon's musings._ What the hell? Goin' queer on me now? I'm disappointed, Sketchy._

Psymon immediately snapped back, "Shut the fuck up!"

Brodi, thinking the outburst was directed at him, stopped short and looked away. "My bad, man."

The backtracking was in full effect. "No, no, no. I didn't mean you. I just... My tattoo said something and... I didn't mean it. Not to you anyway. I..." He trailed off and sighed. At this point, the tattoo would have grinned with smug satisfaction if it were capable of such an act.

The men lapsed into silence - Brodi finding solace in his meditation where he knew he would never be told to "shut the fuck up" and Psymon retreating into his own warped mind.

The tattoo had called him queer. Sure it could have meant the "weird" definition, but what if it wasn't that.

The "friend" let out an exasperated sigh. _Oh, please. Don't start with this again._

Luckily, the tattoo got his wish. Elise made her way down the narrow aisle and stopped next to Psymon. She leaned over placing her hands on her knees, her low cut shirt showing more cleavage than Psymon cared to see.

"Hey Brodi," she chirped happily.

The tattoo groaned. _Look at her! She's practically throwing herself at him. It's disgusting really._

Psymon coughed to cover up his laugh. Elise shot him a dirty look and grumbled with obvious distaste, "Hello, _Psymon_."

_Mess with her._ The tattoo commanded.

"Y'know, Elise, you should go back to your seat. If we were to experience turbulence, you'd fall over and most likely snap your neck on an arm rest."

_And no one would care._ The tattoo mused. _Except for maybe Eddie...or Luther. Have you seen the way he looks at her? Well, her boobs actually. It's sickening to think of all the things that man would do to Elise's dead body._ A gagging sound could be heard in Psymon's head, making him grin. He bit down on his lip in an attempt to not laugh.

Elise's eyes narrowed. "You should remind me of that when I give a shit."

"Don't worry, I will. But at that point, you'll probably be already dead," Psymon pointed out casually.

An audible growl could be heard emitting from deep within Elise's throat.

_Oooooo-eeeeee! It's a big ol' bitch!_ Psymon's tattoo nearly shouted in a southern drawl, sounding exactly like Luther.

Psymon could hold it back no longer. He threw his head back and let loose a howling cackle, drawing the attention of the other passengers amid their various activities - Eddie and Seeiah discussing morning routines, JP and Mac listening to music, Kaori drawing, Luther eating, Moby and Zoe talking politics while having a thumb wrestling match, and Marisol fixing her make up (with the same plan Elise had come up with earlier - though once she saw Elise had beat her to the punch, she huffed and stared out the window, grumbling in Spanish).

Brodi, awoken from his meditative stupor by the violent explosion of laughter, looked up at Elise. "Oh hey, Elise."

She quickly rearranged her face to something more pleasant as she directed her attention on Brodi. "Whatcha readin'?"

And with that, Elise and Brodi launched into a conversation both literally and metaphorically over Psymon's head. He closed his eyes and tried tune out the conversation and the tattoo who had begun ranting about the poor quality of snacks available on the plane (_Seriously, it's a disgrace. What they give you wouldn't even be appreciated by some starving kid in Africa. He'd be all like, "Bitch! What do I look like? Some uppity skank on a plane? No! I'm a starving kid in Africa now give me some real food!" For fuck's sake, who does a tattoo have to blow around here for a steak! Even if they _did_ have steak I'd have to pay for the motherfucker. What do I look like? Some _rich_ uppity skank on a plane? I paid for my goddamn ticket, now I want some fucking steak!__)._

Psymon sincerely hoped that this flight would end soon.


	2. A Push in the Right Direction

If you were to ask a normal person to not wear a shirt when snowboarding, you would probably be disappointed by the lack of willing participants. It's widely considered insane to snowboard in any stage of undress. Which is why this makes a perfect attire for Psymon Stark.

At the lodge after a long day of racing, Psymon relaxed in the room he claimed, laying on the bed, still decked out in his gear - black and white camouflage pants with leather patches at the knees, black boots, gloves, and, naturally, no shirt. His torso was still wet from all the snow that had melted on him. Not that he fell down a lot. No, Mac seemed to take it upon himself to avenge his girlfriend, Kaori, by taking all his sharp turns around Psymon in order to get as much snow on him as possible.

Oddly enough, Psymon didn't really mind. His tattoo rationalized the entire fiasco: _It isn't your fault Kaori was trying to pass you. It's totally fair game to knock your competition out of the way. Just because frail little Kaori happened to break a pinky in the process of the race due to your unalienable right as a competitor in the SSX Circuit, doesn't give Mac the authority to be a complete jerk. If he should be mad at anyone, it should be the course designers for making the track so lethal._ Not that Mac's added distraction worked, Psymon still placed second in the race next to Brodi and followed by Elise.

Psymon stared up at the ceiling, counting as many specks of dust as he could. He had reached five thousand when his concentration had been broken by his tattoo.

_I'm r-r-really c-c-cold._

Psymon snorted. "Don't be such a drama queen. I'm not even cold, so why would I believe you were?"

_Bec-c-cause I'm a g-good a-actor._

"Stop that."

The voice chuckled and composed itself. _If you insist on ruining my fun._

"I do insist."

The voice went silent and Psymon attempted to go back to counting. He realized, though, that he forgot his number sometime during the short conversation.

"Fuck you," Psymon muttered.

_What did I do wrong? _The tattoo asked meekly, trying to sound innocent.

"Everything! Now I have to start all over."

_What was so fun about counting dust anyway? Don't you have something better to do?_

"No, actually, I don't. Now if you don't mind..." Psymon refocused his attention back to the particles of dust. "One. Two. Three. Four."

_Stop! I will not allow this to continue. We need to go have some fun with your friends._

Psymon was very aware of the fact that he didn't have what people normally considered "friends." Just a collection of people that tolerated him the most and tolerated him the least. Zöe and Kaori being at the respective ends of the spectrum.

"Fun would be nice. But I lost the whoopee cushions, remember?"

_Oh. Right. Well, you know everyone is downstairs partying it up. We could always join them._

"I'd rather not," Psymon said, starting to count again. "One. Two. Three."

_I don't see why we have to be up here like hermits when everyone else is having fun._

"Because I don't want to be there."

_Why not?_

"I just don't. Got a problem with that?"

_Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't._

"What's so abnormal then?"

_You being a chicken._

Psymon sat up. "I'm not being a chicken."

_Not only are you being a chicken, you're being about as soft as good french toast. Which I could go for right about now. Can you make some? Are you even capable of cooking anything?_

"Keep this up and I'll get you removed," Psymon growled.

This earned a hearty laugh from the voice. _You and I both know that erasing some silly ink won't get rid of me. In any case, I'm completely justified in calling you a punk ass bitch._

"I thought I was a chicken."

_Hush. You don't want to go down there because you know _he'll _be down there._

Psymon jumped out of bed and busied himself with trying to find something to dry himself off with, despite the fact most of the water had been absorbed by the bed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The tattoo sang, _Psymon and Broderick sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G!_

Psymon clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to shut out the voice, but to no avail. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

_You know it's true, Psymon. There's no use in denying it._

"Fine! I won't deny it. I just don't want things to be awkward between us."

_Oh whatever. He wants nothing to do with you. Not when Elise is hogging his attention, anyway. You'll be fine! Lets just go down there, enjoy a drink or two, and watch everyone make a fool of themselves._

Psymon paced back and forth, considering the proposition. "Well... That could work I guess."

_Good! Lets go!_

"Under one condition."

_What?_

"Take back what you said about me being a chicken."

_Fine. You, Psymon Stark, are not a chicken. _

"Thank you."

_But you're still a punk ass bitch that has the consistency of french toast._

"I can live with that."


	3. Going Green

_This hallway will never have an end. It will just keep going and going. That will be it. It will be the same in the other direction as well. There will nothing more to this world than a never-ending hallway with shitty wallpaper. No food. No water. The doors on either wall appear menacing - as if they are gateways to terrible anomalies. It's a shame that they, too, will continue into eternity. _

_This surely must be Hell._

Psymon sighed. "Would you please stop that? We haven't even been walking for two seconds."

And the statement was true enough. Psymon glanced behind him at the door to his assigned room. He could still reach out and grab the doorknob if he chose to.

_Yeah, I know. But don't tell me that wasn't pretty fucking creative. I should write a book. I mean, you'll do the writing and I'll tell you what to write. Then when we get it published..._

Psymon sighed, tuning out the pesky voice and whatever ludicrous plan it was concocting, and continued the short trek to the stairs that led to the first floor of the lodge, where the bar was and everyone would be. Laughing and carrying on like the best of friends. He kept walking towards the bar, the doors in sight and faint laughter could be heard at this point. Even though he was sure that this entire venture would be pointless, it would be better than counting dust.

_... And after I get the Nobel Prize for awesomeness, all I'll need is a pool in the backyard of my mansion and I'll be set for life. I can't wait!_

"You know," Psymon said, finally reaching his destination. He stopped just short of the double doors and listened to the distinctive voices of his competitors for a moment before finishing what he was originally going to say. "It's times like these where I want to jump onto some power lines again and hope that you'll be gone."

_Oh my poor little feelings! How could you Psymon? How could you?_

Sobbing could then be heard resonating through Psymon's head. He rubbed his temples and shut his eyes tightly. "Just shut up! You're so annoying!"

The voice laughed. _I know. I do try my hardest. One day you'll learn to appreciate it. But right now, let's go have fun!_

Psymon readied himself and walked through the doors.

* * *

Elise was the first, and only, person to notice him enter the room and find a seat in a secluded booth. While she welcomed any distraction from the drunken ravings of Brodi, who had begun narrating the entirety of Buddhism's history, she couldn't allow this chance to hookup with the resident Buddhist pass. Whether he was drunk off his ass and it was horrible, or if he didn't remember at all didn't bother Elise one bit. She was purely after him for selfish reasons and was totally okay with it.

She was merely after the prestige and bragging rights that came with sleeping with the hottest guy on tour. And the fact that she finally would one-up Marisol - who had previously raised the bar by scamming out with Brodi - was like the cherry on top of it all.

Elise chuckled to herself before reverting her attention back to Brodi, interrupting him smoothy.

"So, as interesting as that is..." She leaned in closer, placing her hand on his thigh, smirking. "Why don't we go back to your room?"

* * *

_That slut! I could stab her right now if I were tangible!_

Psymon silently glared at Elise. He was horrible at reading lips, but he could imply that nothing good would come of what she was saying. He closed his fists tightly on the table.

_Doesn't she just infuriate you?_ Prompted the voice inside his head. _I mean seriously, look at her! All up on him like she's...she's....white on rice. Grease on bacon. Chocolate on strawberries. Stink on a homeless guy. Red on -_

"Okay! I get it!" Psymon growled through his clenched jaw.

_I'm just trying to give you an idea of what's going on is all._

"I hate you so much right now."

_Me or Elise?_

Psymon sighed. "Both."

_Good. Good. Let the anger fuel you, my minion._ A loud laugh followed.

Psymon shook his head. "I'm not angry."

_Then what, pray tell, are you feeling?_

"Envy," Psymon replied curtly. He stood up and stormed out of the bar with every intention of counting dust until he died.

* * *

Elise saw the door swing shut out of the corner of her eye, but paid it no mind. Psymon was just a distraction she didn't want to deal with. She was a bit preoccupied awaiting Brodi's answer. He kept rocking back and forth opening his mouth like he meant to answer, but it kept closing before any words would come out. Elise took this time to exercise her patience which was waning swiftly.

She looked away from Brodi for a second, catching Marisol looking in her direction. The 18-year-old was seething with hate which made Elise smile cockily.

Unable to wait any longer, Elise made Brodi's decision for him. She stood up from her table and grabbed his hand, pulling him up with her. Unfortunately, Brodi couldn't maintain his own balance and fell flat on the floor just as quickly as he had risen. This sent the previously distracted competitors into an uproar (Mac going so far as to literally roll on the floor laughing). All except for Marisol who was content with grinning smugly at Elise, knowing her plan was foiled.

Elise groaned at the 6-foot-4 heap on the ground. She hefted the passed out Brodi, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and supporting his weight.

"It's not worth the effort to try to get him conscience enough for a decent lay," Elise muttered, unheard with the continuous laughter. She glared over her shoulder at the boarders. "Fuck you all."

Zoë was the one to respond. "It's not our fault he's a lightweight." Another laugh ripped through the group.

Elise rolled her eyes and she started her slow trek back to his room to dump his off for the night.

* * *

Psymon paced furiously in front of his bed, grumbling unintelligibly. The only words recognizable to the human ear were "hate" and "bitch."

_Told ya this was going to happen. Notice how you had nothing to worry about? Elise, man. She's got him around her finger. No use vying for his attention now. You tried your hardest, now it's time to let go._

"NO!" Psymon yelled at the top of his lungs.

* * *

A few minutes earlier, at the other end of the lodge, a woman stood by the window, gazing out into the Alaskan night. Her gaze could better be described as a stare. A stare that could hardly be called friendly. The night didn't deserve her hate. It was merely powdering the ground, covering up the tracks of those who ventured out during the day. But that didn't stop her. The arms of the woman were crossed tightly over her chest and a frown was plastered on her face, her forehead creased with anger.

On the other side of the room, a man - whether he is the woman's friend, lover, husband, or a combination thereof is unknown - leaned against the wall giving her the same "gaze" she was giving the beautiful night. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples, preparing to start his groveling. The silence was unbearable.

"Look. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean any of that. You're far prettier than your sister and I would never want to be with her like I want to be with you."

The woman scoffed, but said nothing.

The man approached the woman and hugged her around her waist, kissing her neck lightly, smirking slightly.

"I'll make it up to you if you give me a change. What d'ya say?"

Suddenly, a voice rang loud and clear through the room. As quickly as it came, it was gone. Though the word of "No" still echoed through their heads.

The woman's face changed. For the first time that night, a smile was in the place of the frown. She gingerly pulled the man's arms from her.

"I believe I have been spoken for."

The man sighed in defeat as his friend-lover-and/or-wife left the room.

* * *

Meanwhile.

_Seriously? Is there a need to be that loud? I'm right here, ya know. No need to yell. Now you probably ruined someone's night. Way to go, asshole._

Psymon, feeling better after the outburst, stripped off his shirt and flopped back on his bed. "Whoever it was, they probably deserved it."

_Yeah, maybe. You never know. Just so you know, at this point, if I had shoulders, I would shrug._

"That's great." Psymon mumbled as he closed his eyes, drifted off to sleep.


End file.
